


The Good, the Bad, and the Fashionable

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Control Issues, Fashion is Life, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: She'd been stuck in some version of this lousy "Bad Janet" uniform for all of eternity and she wanted out of it.





	The Good, the Bad, and the Fashionable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VSSAKJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/gifts).



As she retreated to her void, Bad Janet huffed and created a doorway just so she could slam it behind her. Demons were fart faces, especially the human-looking ones. Always asking her questions, always wanting to see stuff, always wanting her to pull bees outta her butt -- just always ordering her around. Her lips curled into a snarl so she instantly took a selfie, just to check out how cool it looked, before stuffing her phone back into her pocket.

Only to take her phone right back out again so she could text a note to herself: work on sneer.

They were all so freaking obsessed with their lame work, whether they were droning on and on about the lava room, or the pins and needles room, or the boils emporium -- they never stopped talking about work. Bad Janet's social life extended far beyond their stupid demon world, stretching all the way to Earth, thanks to the wonders of her Afterlife phone. She filled her void with her favorite stuff online -- sparkly cell phone covers, pictures of dogs peeing on people playing poker, and a collection of ceramic piggybanks made to look like pirates, Beatles, and US presidents. She'd shattered the JFK one once and remade it with its eyes on the back of the head, then returned it to the shelf, deciding it looked better that way.

Walking past the yellow and red checkerboard bookcase, Janet patted the eyeless bank. That had been right after reboot #7, one of the times Shawn made a mistake. She didn't know how many times she'd been rebooted before she’d hacked her own code to track the reboots, but it was probably at least 100.

Demons had tempers, and they hated making mistakes -- plus a lot of them thought it was funny to boil her in oil or burn her or melt her in acid, then hit the reboot button so she'd forget. She was keeping a list of everyone who triggered a reboot through “unusual damage,” and she was going to figure out a way to get them all.

Right now, though, she wanted to figure out how to have something different to wear outside of her void. She flopped onto her gilded couch and threw her arm over her forehead.

She'd built herself closets full of fashionable clothing. Whenever she saw a new human appear in something she liked, she copied it back to her void. Her wardrobe was full of skinny jeans in camo, black, or bright blood red, with see-through black lace shirts just so she could wear white bras underneath, and over 100 crop-top t-shirts all in Pepto pink. There were metallic snakeskin t-shirts and big fur jackets made of long-dead animals -- her absolute favorite was the Tasmanian tiger -- all to be worn with one of the thousand pairs of black boots.

Shitty fact of the day: she couldn't actually wear any of them. She could only wear what she was summoned in, and demons didn't give any thought to what she wore. She'd been stuck in some version of this lousy "Bad Janet" uniform for all of eternity and she wanted out of it. She was done with being dressed in whatever took someone else's fancy, be it slutty farmer's daughter, slutty demimonde, or simple two dollar whore. Her clothing should be her choice, and no one else's.

As much as she hated to, she would have to ask a Good Janet for help -- actually, she'd have to ask The Good Janet, the one that had been to hell and been rebooted more than Bad Janet had. Where to meet was easy, as the Janets had a designated spot in a neutral location where they could pass along information about the neighborhoods they worked in. Janet had never gone there before, as she didn't give a rat's ass about what the other Janets did, but she had the embedded marker that would get her there and return her to the Bad Place without Shawn knowing about it. She just needed to send Good Janet a message, and since Good Janet was a sucker, she'd be sure to show up.

The message, though. That was tough. Good Place, Bad Place, and Neutral Janets all used different networks. Maybe she could track down one of the four humans, and use them to give her the message? Sure, everyone was looking for them and they were keeping a low profile...

Then she got an idea. A terrible, wonderful, horrible idea. The force of the thought pushed her upright, up off of the couch and onto her feet. She started pacing, unable to contain her excitement. Tahani would never be able to keep a low profile. She considered herself a fashion icon, and Janet knew human fashion. Toronto fashion week was coming up, and Janet could easily fake up an invite as a guest judge or commentator or something.

Grabbing her phone, Janet tapped out everything she needed to create a fashion blog on Instagram starting two years ago, so that she would be a known influencer today. Giggling to herself, she sent out the invite, knowing that Tahani would accept it. Once she had Tahani, she could figure out the message problem. One thing at a time.

She felt quite proud of herself. This was going to work. She needed a good lie -- more than one, as she'd have to sneak into the illegal portal to get to Earth. She'd also need one for Good Janet, as it would sound stupid if she said she wanted to change her clothes herself, and not always wear what someone else wanted her to wear. It would be okay, though, as Good Janet was a real stick in the mud and would believe anything. Once she knew the trick for materializing clothing she wanted, she'd dash back to her void and try it out.

And then, oh then, she would finally get out of this putrid jacket and leggings thing along with this horrid haircut. She plucked at one of the strands hanging against her chest and grimaced. It was so tired looking, too long and too ratty. She'd cut it short -- pixie length -- and color the tips firelight orange and red.

No. Better idea. A bob, chin length, ombre red. She took a deep breath and imagined it, visualizing how good she would look with that hair just brushing her Tasmanian tiger jacket and the way the jacket would drape around her, accenting her form and her skinny red pants. Crystal-embellished patent leather pumps would catch the light as she walked, and no one would be able to compete.

She smiled and glanced at her phone, impatient for the text that would confirm that her plan was in play.

 

* * *

 

Tahani carefully stepped over the curb, her full skirt flaring around her as she walked. Why was it so difficult to find the entrance to her interview? There should be lines around the block for this, and a bouncer standing guard. This place looked like a derelict warehouse.

"This seems like a bad idea. I've checked the traffic maps, and it seems highly likely that we will miss our outbound flight." Janet said for perhaps the thousandth time. "We shouldn't have left Michael behind."

"Michael wanted to fly coach," Tahani said, sparing a glance at Janet before returning to scanning the street. "There is no point to flying coach, and there were no first class seats on that flight."

"Chidi and Eleanor flew premium coach."

Tahani gave her a quelling look. "Premium coach is not first class. Anyway, Michael wanted a long layover in New York, and I didn't want to disappoint him. You are too anxious, sweetheart. You may be new to Earthly transportation, but I've traveled extensively and always in comfort even when going through the Himalayas. Trust me. We have plenty of time for one little interview, a quick Q&A with my fans, some photos, and a limo to the airport. We'll be in Calgary well before the others arrive."

"Very well." Janet sighed. "All of this travel would be so much easier if I only had my powers back."

"Oh, my dear. I know, I know," Tahani said, patting Janet's arm in a quite reassuring manner. "I'm sure you'll get them back soon."

"I'll get them back when I return to the afterlife."

"Yes, right." Light flashed at the other end of the block, and Tahani instantly perked up."Look, down there. That must be the place." Walking swiftly, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, she passed a sign with the right address on it next to a large, partially boarded-up window; she couldn't help but glance inside. She wasn't sure what sure what she expected -- a large white room, perhaps, with a raised dais and a raft of folding chairs where her fans could listen to her commentary in rapt, real-time attention. At least one camera and lights suitable for a live Instagram feed.

But this place -- well, she'd been a model and fashion icon since she was fourteen, and there was something not right about it. Usually when a design chose to show in an "abandoned warehouse", they spent some time cleaning and polishing it so it was abandoned in an artistic way. This one, well, this one looked both awkward and tacky. It was filled with battered and stained yet comfortable-looking furniture draped with enough hand crocheted afghans to stock a senior center craft bazaar. It wasn't what she would have expected from an influencer like Jennet Badas, fashion badass.

But there, just at the back -- a stage, with a lectern and interview chairs. She opened the first door she saw and headed inside.

 

* * *

 

The jukebox was playing "Mellow Yellow" as two figures rolled through the doorway onto the floor of the diner. Janet snorted a laugh at how bizarre they looked. Good Janet and Tahani, skirts rucked up to their asses, sprawled on the tiled floor. Idiots, both of them. Total nimrods. Slouching further into the booth, she watched as they scrambled to their feet and dusted themselves off. She gave herself a mental red velvet star for getting the two of them at once. She wouldn't have to send Good Janet a message after all.

"Janet, what...?" Tahani said, looking 'round the restaurant. "This is not what I was expecting. Where on earth are we?"

"We're not on Earth," namby-pamby Good Janet said. "This is the Spot."

Oh, screw it. She wouldn't be able to deal with their grating voices for long. Bad Janet yelled out, "That's the place in the Jeremy-Bearimy with the 'I' in it. We're in the dot. It's been used as a neutral meeting place for Good and Bad Janets, along with the occasional Neutral Janet, since the first bang."

Tahani whirled around to look at her. Janet had to admit, she looked damn good doing that. And the little bit of fear in her eyes made it all the more delicious.

"Miss me, nerd?"

"I'm sorry," Tahani said, clearing her throat. "Who are you?"

Crap. Yeah, right. Memory wipes. Hundreds of memory wipes. "I'm Bad Janet."

"And what is that? A Bad Janet?"

"A Janet that works for the Bad Place," Good Janet said. "Her job is to make everyone miserable in her neighborhood."

"I see. So, what, we've been captured and brought to hell?" Looking around, Tahani clearly assessed everything. "Perhaps it is. It looks like a poorly decorated retro diner, circa 1980. That seems very hellish to me."

Janet whistled. "You are good."

"Thank you." She leaned over a little conspiratorially. "I'm known for my fashion sense." Pulling herself upright, she smiled condescendingly. "It's why Banksy keeps texting me about collaborating on one of his future exhibits. He wants my feedback on this incredible joke he's planning that relies upon him setting up his own fashion house. Can you imagine?"

Ignoring her, Bad Janet folded her arms over her chest and glared at Good Janet. "I want to make a deal."

"Deals between Good and Bad Janets are only possible here," Good Janet explained to Tahani. "It's the only place our systems overlap. Otherwise, it's like we are playing the same game on different servers."

Tahani cleared her throat, clearly confused. "That's very similar to when Taylor Swift was at my Luncheon for Peace in 2012. She asked my opinion on if she should move on from country music to pop. I told her yes, of course, and introduced her to Harry Styles. My little soiree was the place where her country and popular music lives overlapped."

Good Janet tilted her head and smiled sunnily. "I didn't understand most of those references, but I can review the entirety of pop culture and music to find it out." She blinked. "Yes, it's very similar."

"Screw it you two," Bad Janet grumbled. "I'm the one who brought you here, so stop talking to each other. I wanted to talk to you, Good Janet. You."

"Given that we have been tracked through several planes of existence by demonic forces intent on returning us to the Bad Place, I'm not sure I should be bargaining with you."

Bad Janet took a deep breath. Here's where the risk she'd taken would have to pay off. The Spot required you to either lie or be truthful, and while lying had its appeal, she'd decided that she needed to be truthful to get what she wanted. "I know you are more advanced than the other Janets, because I know about the reboots."

"Yes, I have been rebooted more times than any other Janet."

"Do you know how many?"

"827. Michael was meticulous about keeping count of the number of times he rebooted his great experiment."

"Well, see… No one kept track of mine."

Good Janet pulled back, looking startled. "Oh. I see."

Janet grimaced. "Yeah. So while you may be the most advanced Good Janet because of your reboots, I may be the most advanced of the Bads." She shrugged. "I don't know if there are any other Bad Janets that have been rebooted even once. Demons are hard on Janets."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not about that." Fuck it. This sucked. She really wanted to say "You can stick it up your butt", and knew that wouldn't get the reaction she wanted. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck." She felt nauseous, like she was gonna puke at any second. She'd puke sometimes as a joke, so she knew what it felt like, but this was the first times her own nerves had made her feel that way. "There's one stupid thing I want that I can't do on my own." She looked Good Janet up and down, shaking her head. "Since you can wear anything you want on earth, why do you choose to wear that shitty outfit?"

"I like it?" Good Janet said, confused.

"Oh my goodness, yes," Tahani said, sliding in between them. "It's awful, isn't it? Very ‘70s stewardess, without the irony or thrift store chic that should go with it. I mean, really. Polyester." She shook her head. "I've beseeched her to try something more au courant and chic, but without success."

"That's what I want to try." The words started tumbling out of Bad Janet's mouth, faster and more sincere than she had ever been in her existence: "I want to wear something that I choose to wear, not something that I have been forced to wear. I want to choose my own hairstyle and color, and keep my fingernails short if I want. I'd like to try sandals where my toes stick out and full-length skirts. I’m tired of not being able to make my own choices outside of my void. I'd like to wear something different than this" --she patted her chest where the moto jacket was padded-- "with something other than black leggings. I don't want to do stuff just because someone asks." The words made her feel weird, unsettled, vulnerable. She didn't like it and could feel the hopeful energy drain out of her. This had been a stupid idea. She should never have reached out to the ugly fartholes to begin with, let alone give them a chance to make fun of her.

"You poor thing," Tahani said softly. "I can't imagine what it would be like to have only one outfit for all of eternity."

"Fun fact: Michael said that in one of the reboots, you had multiple copies of only one outfit, and you hated it."

Tahani grimaced in distaste. "Probably something atrocious like cargo trousers."

Good Janet looked off to left. "I'm running through my code base to see if I can find the original location where Good, Bad, and Neutral Janets were branched, then project from there to where the instantiation problem might exist in your code. Okay, got it." She turned her gaze back to Bad Janet. "I can't guarantee that it will work long term, as our programming branched a long time ago, but I think I can help. Two conditions."

"Yeah?"

"One: you don't help Shawn. Be somewhere else, don't let him ask you any questions that might help him track us down on Earth."

"Got it." Janet nodded. That was an easy one.

"Two: whenever someone tries to talk about Michael or the four humans, you act cold, distant, and bored. You can even make fun of them."

"That's it?" If Janet had a heart, it would have been pounding. This was so easy. She'd assumed they'd help her because they were idiots, but this was even better than expected.

"Yes, that's it."

"Done." She nodded at Good Janet, who nodded back, sealing the deal.

"Here," Good Janet said, pulling a key out of her pocket. "This should give you the code you want. "

Janet grabbed at it, and Goody Two Shoes pulled it back. "Remember -- you aren't to help Shawn or the other demons at all. You are to be cold, remote, and hostile."

"Yeah, sure," Janet said, and snatched the key away. _My precious_ , she thought, cradling it for a moment. _My precious._

But she couldn't let Good Janet leave thinking she'd won. Cupping the key in her hand, she sneered at her good twin. "You could have asked for more. I wouldn't have helped them anyway. Cold and distant is kinda my thing."

Good Janet tapped her finger on Janet's forehead and smiled. "I know." Grabbing Tahani's hand, they pinged out of the diner and Janet carefully held up the key, let it dematerialize and closed her eyes as she absorbed it into her system.

_Yes, yes, ah!_ There. That was the problem.

She changed her hair color, its length, and the type of jacket she wore -- perfect. She was in the spot, not her void, and no one told her what to wear...

A sense of power and control flowed through her, something she'd never experienced before. This, this was what she was meant for -- being in charge, and being herself. She could control the universe and create things outside the afterlife merely by thinking about it. She would--

The feeling flickered and died while she reverted to her old form as the tug of Shawn's demand for her -- his summons -- overrode her own wishes, lessening her, diminishing her. The clothing she wore twisted and faded, returning to her old leggings and jacket, her hair long and poorly highlighted again. She laughed as she realized the inevitability of it: here in the middle of the Spot, where nothing never happens, she'd both found herself and run out of time.

She took a deep breath before she pinged back to hell. She'd done it once, so she could figure it out again. She'd keep her promise, and her secret, no matter what happened. Next time, she'd be stronger.

Next time, she'd be summoned and she'd stay away.


End file.
